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she must always have seemed to Fred, and she wondered
why he had concerned himself about her at all. Perhaps
she would never be so happy or so good-looking again,
and she would like Fred to see her, for once, at her best.
She had not been singing much, but she knew that her
voice was more interesting than it had ever been before.
She had begun to understand that--with her, at least--
voice was, first of all, vitality; a lightness in the body and
a driving power in the blood. If she had that, she could
sing. When she felt so keenly alive, lying on that insensi-
ble shelf of stone, when her body bounded like a rubber ball
away from its hardness, then she could sing. This, too, she
could explain to Fred. He would know what she meant.
Another week passed. Thea did the same things as
before, felt the same influences, went over the same ideas;
but there was a livelier movement in her thoughts, and a
freshening of sensation, like the brightness which came over
the underbrush after a shower. A persistent affirmation--
or denial--was going on in her, like the tapping of the
woodpecker in the one tall pine tree across the chasm.
Musical phrases drove each other rapidly through her
mind, and the song of the cicada was now too long and too
sharp. Everything seemed suddenly to take the form of a
desire for action.
It was while she was in this abstracted state, waiting
for the clock to strike, that Thea at last made up her mind
what she was going to try to do in the world, and that she
was going to Germany to study without further loss of time.
Only by the merest chance had she ever got to Panther
Canyon. There was certainly no kindly Providence that
directed one's life; and one's parents did not in the least
care what became of one, so long as one did not misbehave
and endanger their comfort. One's life was at the mercy of
blind chance. She had better take it in her own hands and
lose everything than meekly draw the plough under the
rod of parental guidance. She had seen it when she was at
home last summer,--the hostility of comfortable, self-
satisfied people toward any serious effort. Even to her
father it seemed indecorous. Whenever she spoke seriously,
he looked apologetic. Yet she had clung fast to whatever
was left of Moonstone in her mind. No more of that! The
Cliff-Dwellers had lengthened her past. She had older and
higher obligations.
V
ONE Sunday afternoon late in July old Henry Biltmer
was rheumatically descending into the head of the
canyon. The Sunday before had been one of those cloudy
days--fortunately rare--when the life goes out of that
country and it becomes a gray ghost, an empty, shivering
uncertainty. Henry had spent the day in the barn; his
canyon was a reality only when it was flooded with the light
of its great lamp, when the yellow rocks cast purple shad-
ows, and the resin was fairly cooking in the corkscrew
cedars. The yuccas were in blossom now. Out of each
clump of sharp bayonet leaves rose a tall stalk hung with
greenish-white bells with thick, fleshy petals. The nigger-
head cactus was thrusting its crimson blooms up out of
every crevice in the rocks.
Henry had come out on the pretext of hunting a spade
and pick-axe that young Ottenburg had borrowed, but he
was keeping his eyes open. He was really very curious
about the new occupants of the canyon, and what they
found to do there all day long. He let his eye travel along
the gulf for a mile or so to the first turning, where the fis-
sure zigzagged out and then receded behind a stone prom-
ontory on which stood the yellowish, crumbling ruin of
the old watch-tower.
From the base of this tower, which now threw its
shadow forward, bits of rock kept flying out into the open
gulf--skating upon the air until they lost their momen-
tum, then falling like chips until they rang upon the ledges
at the bottom of the gorge or splashed into the stream.
Biltmer shaded his eyes with his hand. There on the prom-
ontory, against the cream-colored cliff, were two figures
nimbly moving in the light, both slender and agile, entirely
absorbed in their game. They looked like two boys. Both
were hatless and both wore white shirts.
Henry forgot his pick-axe and followed the trail before
the cliff-houses toward the tower. Behind the tower, as
he well knew, were heaps of stones, large and small, piled
against the face of the cliff. He had always believed that
the Indian watchmen piled them there for ammunition.
Thea and Fred had come upon these missiles and were
throwing them for distance. As Biltmer approached he
could hear them laughing, and he caught Thea's voice,
high and excited, with a ring of vexation in it. Fred was
teaching her to throw a heavy stone like a discus. When
it was Fred's turn, he sent a triangular-shaped stone out
into the air with considerable skill. Thea watched it en-
viously, standing in a half-defiant posture, her sleeves
rolled above her elbows and her face flushed with heat
and excitement. After Fred's third missile had rung upon
the rocks below, she snatched up a stone and stepped im-
patiently out on the ledge in front of him. He caught her
by the elbows and pulled her back.
"Not so close, you silly! You'll spin yourself off in a
minute."
"You went that close. There's your heel-mark," she
retorted.
"Well, I know how. That makes a difference." He drew
a mark in the dust with his toe. "There, that's right.
Don't step over that. Pivot yourself on your spine, and
make a half turn. When you've swung your length, let it
go."
Thea settled the flat piece of rock between her wrist and
fingers, faced the cliff wall, stretched her arm in position,
whirled round on her left foot to the full stretch of her
body, and let the missile spin out over the gulf. She hung
expectantly in the air, forgetting to draw back her arm,
her eyes following the stone as if it carried her fortunes
with it. Her comrade watched her; there weren't many
girls who could show a line like that from the toe to the
thigh, from the shoulder to the tip of the outstretched
hand. The stone spent itself and began to fall. Thea drew
back and struck her knee furiously with her palm.
"There it goes again! Not nearly so far as yours. What
IS the matter with me? Give me another." She faced the
cliff and whirled again. The stone spun out, not quite so
far as before.
Ottenburg laughed. "Why do you keep on working
AFTER you've thrown it? You can't help it along then."
Without replying, Thea stooped and selected another
stone, took a deep breath and made another turn. Fred
watched the disk, exclaiming, "Good girl! You got past
the pine that time. That's a good throw."
She took out her handkerchief and wiped her glowing
face and throat, pausing to feel her right shoulder with her
left hand.
"Ah--ha, you've made yourself sore, haven't you?
What did I tell you? You go at things too hard. I'll tell
you what I'm going to do, Thea," Fred dusted his hands
and began tucking in the blouse of his shirt, "I'm going to
make some single-sticks and teach you to fence. You'd be
all right there. You're light and quick and you've got lots
of drive in you. I'd like to have you come at me with foils;
you'd look so fierce," he chuckled.
She turned away from him and stubbornly sent out
another stone, hanging in the air after its flight. Her fury
amused Fred, who took all games lightly and played them
well. She was breathing hard, and little beads of moisture
had gathered on her upper lip. He slipped his arm about
her. "If you will look as pretty as that--" he bent his
head and kissed her. Thea was startled, gave him an
angry push, drove at him with her free hand in a manner
quite hostile. Fred was on his mettle in an instant. He
pinned both her arms down and kissed her resolutely.
When he released her, she turned away and spoke over
her shoulder. "That was mean of you, but I suppose I
deserved what I got."
"I should say you did deserve it," Fred panted, "turning
savage on me like that! I should say you did deserve it!"
He saw her shoulders harden. "Well, I just said I de-
served it, didn't I? What more do you want?"
"I want you to tell me why you flew at me like that!
You weren't playing; you looked as if you'd like to murder
me."
She brushed back her hair impatiently. "I didn't mean
anything, really. You interrupted me when I was watching
the stone. I can't jump from one thing to another. I pushed
you without thinking."
Fred thought her back expressed contrition. He went
up to her, stood behind her with his chin above her shoul-
der, and said something in her ear. Thea laughed and
turned toward him. They left the stone-pile carelessly, as
if they had never been interested in it, rounded the yellow
tower, and disappeared into the second turn of the canyon,
where the dead city, interrupted by the jutting promon-
tory, began again.
Old Biltmer had been somewhat embarrassed by the
turn the game had taken. He had not heard their conver-
sation, but the pantomime against the rocks was clear
enough. When the two young people disappeared, their
host retreated rapidly toward the head of the canyon.
"I guess that young lady can take care of herself," he
chuckled. "Young Fred, though, he has quite a way with
them."
VI
DAY was breaking over Panther Canyon. The gulf was
cold and full of heavy, purplish twilight. The wood
smoke which drifted from one of the cliff-houses hung in a
blue scarf across the chasm, until the draft caught it and
whirled it away. Thea was crouching in the doorway of
her rock house, while Ottenburg looked after the crackling
fire in the next cave. He was waiting for it to burn down to
coals before he put the coffee on to boil.
They had left the ranch house that morning a little after
three o'clock, having packed their camp equipment the
day before, and had crossed the open pasture land with
their lantern while the stars were still bright. During the
descent into the canyon by lantern-light, they were chilled
through their coats and sweaters. The lantern crept slowly
along the rock trail, where the heavy air seemed to offer
resistance. The voice of the stream at the bottom of the
gorge was hollow and threatening, much louder and deeper
than it ever was by day--another voice altogether. The
sullenness of the place seemed to say that the world could
get on very well without people, red or white; that under
the human world there was a geological world, conducting
its silent, immense operations w...
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